


Space Between Beds

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Holding [8]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Pining, Requited Love, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-31 21:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18322568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Patrice just looks at him the way he always does, that ridiculously nice expression like "if you’re happy I’m happy, Marchy" and shakes his head a little, obviously trying not to laugh. Every time Patrice looks at him like this, Brad falls a little more in love with his best friend and then immediately hates himself for it that much more to match.





	Space Between Beds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindbatalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/gifts).



> For Alex, because you reblogged the post and I saw it on my Tumblr dash (so I wouldn't have known about it otherwise):  
> [i see your “and there was only one bed” and raise you “and there were two beds but they felt so far apart, so unsure if they could ever cross that line from friends to something more, pining so hard for each other that when person a wakes up in the middle of the night to person b crawling into their bed, they have no objections”]
> 
> I think this may be the shortest thing I've ever written.

Brad wishes there was a fuckup like the one the other night with Pasta and Krug. Before the game against Anaheim, those two were rooming together and through some ridiculous computer error they ended up in a room with just one queen bed, which everyone had to hear the excruciating details about the next morning. _Pasta snores like a truck with a busted muffler! Krug kept kicking me!_ And on and on and fucking _on_ like that.

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, depending how it’s looked at, this doesn’t happen for Brad. He’s rooming with Patrice in Vancouver tonight, and to say it’s Spanish Inquisition-level torture would be going too far, but… whatever the next step before the Spanish Inquisition is-level torture. Whatever that is, that’s what this is.

“Dibs!” Brad shouts, taking a flying Bobby-Orr-style leap at the bed by the window and belly-flopping onto it.

Patrice just looks at him the way he always does, that ridiculously nice expression like _if you’re happy I’m happy, Marchy_ and shakes his head a little, obviously trying not to laugh. Every time Patrice looks at him this way, Brad falls a little more in love with his best friend and then immediately hates himself for it that much more to match.

“Do you want the shower?” Patrice asks as he sets down his stuff.

“Nah, I’ll do it tomorrow morning,” Brad shrugs, reaching for the tv remote.

He flips for a bit, pretending it’s less creepy than it is that he’s listening to his best friend shower through the wall. And also pretending it’s less creepy than it is to sleep in the same room as someone you’re desperately in love with when they don’t know that you are. And _also_ also pretending it’s less creepy than it is how much he wishes there was another fuckup so that he and Patrice would have to sleep on the same bed together.

There’s nothing on and they have a game tomorrow night, so Brad turns off the tv after only a few minutes and crawls under the blankets. He pretends he’s not thinking stupid lovesick thoughts about his best friend and tries as hard as he can to just go to sleep. Of course, the more desperate he is, the more awake he feels. It gets to the point where he’s embarrassed by this and pretends to be slumbering when Patrice emerges from the bathroom and moves around quietly, also probably getting ready for bed.

Brad just lies there, listening to Patrice fall asleep. He can’t pretend anymore that he’s not being weird about this, because he wants so much to get up, go over there, and lay down on the other mattress with his friend. He imagines the warmth and how Patrice smells like hotel soap and toothpaste… and then reminds himself climbing into bed with a teammate is a great way to get punched. One time when he was younger (and very drunk) he did it by accident and received a black eye for his trouble. That was also back when he was in the AHL, though, so… who knows.

The space between beds is about two feet, but it’s like a yawning ravine between cliffs, waiting to swallow Brad up if he tries to do something stupid. Because he’s thinking about doing something really, _really_ stupid right now - being not a young idiot anymore, and completely sober, the dumbass behavior center of his brain is saying _just go over there and lay down with him! It won’t get you into trouble and end horribly at all!_

Brad so wants that. He wants Patrice - he wants his friend to snuggle with him - he wants… he just _wants._ And he’s also sleep-deprived, because he tossed and turned horribly before the game against the Ducks and then had to fly straight here afterwards, and Patrice is two fucking feet from him. So despite the actual rational parts of him saying _NO STOP YOU IDIOT!,_ Brad quietly gets up, crosses the two-foot chasm, and slowly lowers himself down onto the bed behind his best friend.

He shuffles a little to try and find a comfortable spot, which seems to startle Patrice into a half-awake state: “Marchy…? Wha’s goin’ on, you okay?” Brad already feels so guilty about this that he’s choking on air - right up to the point where Patrice clumsily rolls over, reaches across, and pulls him in for some cuddles. “’S okay, you can stay here…”

Brad’s so surprised, and so happy, and so relieved… and so fucking exhausted. He extricates himself long enough to get under the covers, then burrows in against his friend’s warm chest and sighs quietly. Patrice hugs him closer and kisses his forehead, already almost asleep again. Brad’s not long after him, drifting off on the thought that even without the words, he knows he’s loved back.

**Author's Note:**

> It's important to note I was slightly drunk while writing this. This is only the second time I've written a fic after consuming vodka.


End file.
